Five Nights At Freddy's With Sam and Dean
by TimeSpaceInfinity
Summary: Sam and Dean are working a case at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, where they get jobs working the night shift in order to investigate the mysterious disappearances of those who had the job before. They soon discover that the animatronics in the restaurant come to life at night - but how can Sam and Dean stop them?
1. Chapter 1

"So what makes you want to work here at Freddy's?" Wearily, the manager straightened his nametag and leaned forward on the desk; he had an air about him that suggested he had asked this question to many people, many times, and it made Sam faintly uneasy.

"Uh, we, uh, we just love the kids, you know?" Dean grinned, hamming it up as usual. "Can't think of anything we'd rather do than keep their buddies – " he gestured at the wall, at a poster of the restaurant's three famous animatronics – "safe at night."

"Um, yeah," Sam added. "Pretty much." He glared at Dean, wishing his older brother didn't have such an unprofessional attitude. It was fine for trying to land a job like this, but when it came to impersonating the FBI, it was sometimes a little dicey.

"I see," the manager said, raising his eyebrows in an unconvinced manner. "By that, did you mean you want a little side cash?"

Sam sighed; clearly, the manager couldn't care less what kind of people were working the night shift. "Basically, yes. We're broke." He smiled in a strained sort of way.

"Okay, then," the manager replied, standing up. "You're hired. You got the job." He rolled his eyes, then said, "Congratulations" in a flat, bored tone. He turned to leave the office, then glanced back and said, "Your shift starts at midnight. There'll be a recorded message to tell you what to do. Don't be late."

"Gotcha, sir," Dean muttered, and Sam followed his older brother out of the manager's office and down the hall.

In the main room of the restaurant, the animatronics were moving around on the stage, miming playing various musical instruments with jerky, robotic motions. Sam stared at them, still feeling a little unsettled. Dean snapped his fingers in front of his brother's face, and Sam jumped, then glowered at him. "Don't do that," he complained.

"Focus, Sammy," Dean reprimanded him. "What are we gonna need for tonight?"

"I don't know, Dean," Sam replied. "I'm not really sure there's a job here, to be honest."

Dean shook his head incredulously. "Three recent disappearances, all night guards? Come on, Sam. You gotta admit, there's something shifty about this place."

Sam shrugged. "I guess."

"Okay then. I say we bring the usual: salt, rifles, holy water."

"Demon knife."

"Yeah, demon knife."

"But first," Sam added, "we have to do a little research."

Dean scowled. "Why?"

"Because that's the job," Sam insisted in a frustrated tone. "We have to research the joint, see if there's anything that might explain what's going on here."

Dean frowned around at the room as if each child in it had broken the Impala's windows. "Come on, Sam," he griped, "we won't find out anything in the amount of time we have until our first shift. Let's just scope it out and see what the deal is. No need for all that crap."

"Fine." Sam kicked away a balloon that had bounced along the ground towards them. "Fine. No research. Let's just go."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean paced around the small office, looking up at the posters on the wall of the animatronics, resisting the temptation to unplug the faintly whirring fan next to them. There were hamburger wrappers and empty soda cups littered around the place, and only one chair, a swivel one that Sam had already occupied. Dean leaned against the desk at the other side of the room, staring at the dark hallway outside of the door.

"Geez, can't see anything out there," he muttered, squinting at it.

Sam was holding an iPad, which he was intently focused on; he kept poking at it, his eyebrows contracted with concentration. "This is weird."

"What's that?"

In answer, Sam turned around the iPad so that Dean could see the screen. On it was security footage, seemingly of the stage at the front of the restaurant; the three animatronics were lined up on it, looking ghostly in the glow from the emergency lights. They were focused on their empty audience, only now they weren't moving as before.

"So from what I could figure, these three are Bonnie the Bunny, Chica the Chicken, and Freddy Fazbear," Sam said, almost sardonically. He pointed at each of the animatronics on the screen in turn, starting with a huge, purple bunny, then moving to a yellow chicken with a bib that read "Let's Eat!" and finally the infamous top-hat toting Freddy Fazbear, who basically just looked like a giant teddy bear.

"Why is the camera trained on them?" Dean asked, taking the iPad from his brother and flicking around the rest of the cams using the map in the bottom corner of the screen. He surveyed an eerie-looking dining room, then flipped to the two hallways next to the office and the corners at the end of them before trying to access the kitchen cam. He frowned as the screen filled with static and small letters at the bottom of the screen read "AUDIO ONLY."

"Beats me," Sam mumbled. "Wouldn't think you'd have to focus on a bunch of animatronics."

Dean pressed another of the camera rooms, labeled "Pirate Cove;" all the cam showed was a drawn curtain with a sign out front that read "Sorry! Out of Order."

"This is ridiculous," Dean muttered, handing the iPad back to Sam. "What d'you say I scope the place out, check for EMF? You can stay here and wait for that recorded message the manager mentioned."

"Sounds good," Sam agreed, pulling an EMF detector out of his pocket and handing it to Dean. "Keep your phone on, though. Just in case."

Dean stepped out through the doorway, noting the strange, portcullis-style design of it. "Get a load of that," he said, pointing up at the metal door above him. "Weird, huh?" He flashed Sam a cocky grin before heading down the hallway, towards the main dining room.

Sam squinted at the iPad's screen, raising one eyebrow as he noticed a power readout in one of the top corners. It didn't appear to be power for just the iPad, either; was it for the whole _restaurant?_

Suspiciously, Sam got up out of the swivel chair and wandered over to one of the doors. Next to each one was a panel with two large, square buttons on it; shrugging, Sam pressed the bottom button. Flickering lights came on in the hallway, providing him with a slight view of what was going on outside – nothing. He turned the lights off, then pressed the top button; with a clank, the metal door slammed down instantly, making him jump. "What the hell?" he muttered, glancing back at the iPad. With a jolt, he realized that keeping the door closed was running down the power bar; quickly, without knowing quite why it was such a big deal, Sam opened the door again.

Suddenly, there was a ringing sound coming from the phone in the corner of the office; Sam picked it up off its receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello? Hello?" A nonchalant voice answered. "Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you. I'm finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact. So, I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but I'm here to tell you there's nothing to worry about. Uh, you'll do fine. So let's just focus on getting you through your first week. Okay?"

"That's not sketchy at all," Sam muttered, feeling more and more certain that Dean was right: there was a job here, after all. On a hunch, he pulled out his cell phone and switched on the microphone, waiting for the rest of the phone call.

"Uh, let's see," the recording continued. "First there's an introductory greeting from the company that I'm supposed to read. Uh, it's kind of a legal thing, you know. Um, 'Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, a magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing person report will be filed within 90 days, or as soon as property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced."

"You've got to be kidding me," Sam said slowly; he hadn't actually gotten to go to law school, but he knew enough to know that this wasn't the standard protocol for introducing a new employee – or filing a missing persons report.

"Blah blah blah, now that might sound bad, I know, but there's really nothing to worry about. Uh, the animatronic characters here do get a bit quirky at night, but do I blame them? No. If I were forced to sing those same stupid songs for twenty years and I never got a bath? I'd probably be a bit irritable at night too. So, remember, these characters hold a special place in the hearts of children and we need to show them a little respect, right? Okay. So, just be aware, the characters do tend to wander a bit. Uh, they're left in some kind of free roaming mode at night. Something about their servers locking up if they get turned off for too long."

His heart thumping faster than it had when he and Dean had hunted any ordinary ghost, Sam glanced back at the iPad again. He clicked the stage cam again, breathing a small sigh of relief when he saw that all three characters were in their usual places. "This is so weird," he mumbled to himself, as the phone message continued.

"Uh, they used to be allowed to walk around during the day, too. But then there was the Bite of '87. Yeah. I-It's amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?"

Sam swore under his breath, but also filed that tidbit of information in his mind: The Bite of '87. Once they were done with their first night, and out of here, he would force Dean to crack down and do some research on that.

"Uh, now concerning your safety, the only real risk to you as a night watchman here, if any, is the fact that these characters, uh, if they happen to see you after hours probably won't recognize you as a person. They'll p-most likely see you as a metal endoskeleton without its costume on. Now since that's against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, they'll probably try to...forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit. Um, now, that wouldn't be so bad if the suits themselves weren't filled with crossbeams, wires, and animatronic devices, especially around the facial area. So, you could imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort...and death. Uh, the only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again would be your eyeballs and teeth when they pop out the front of the mask, heh."

"Heh," Sam repeated, a little faintly, and also a little concerned at this guy's casual tone. Though, he could easily picture the man sitting on the other end of the phone, sweating and twitching as he sat in the same office, glancing at the cams every couple of seconds.

"Y-Yeah, they don't tell you these things when you sign up. But hey, first day should be a breeze. I'll chat with you tomorrow. Uh, check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary. Gotta conserve power. Alright, good night."

"There's nine kinds of sketchy going on over here," Sam said to himself, picking the iPad back up again a little nervously. He flicked away from the Pirate Cove cam – which was still just showing the closed curtain – and back to the stage. Suddenly, he felt as though he had been punched in the gut. Chica and Freddy were both still standing there… but Bonnie was _gone._

Glancing frantically at the door, he yelled, "_Dean!"_


	3. Chapter 3

Dean clenched his pistol like a lifeline, uncertain as to why this kids' joint was so unnerving for him right now. He wished he'd thought to take the iPad with him; he wasn't sure why, but it would be nice to check on those creepy-looking animatronics. He already had a sneaking suspicion that they were the danger here.

Brushing past a bunch of arcade games about pirates and galleons, Dean glanced at the purple curtain in the corner that still read "Out of Order." He took a deep breath, then pulled out the EMF scanner and switched it on. At once, it began to emit a high-pitched sound like a tea kettle, and Dean raised his eyebrows. "EMF's off the charts," he murmured, switching it off in case it attracted unwanted attention. Something made him ignore the curtain; so long as it stayed closed, it wouldn't be a problem. _Vengeful spirits, maybe?_

Dean kept walking, heading down another corridor and into the room where all of the kids had gathered to watch the animatronics earlier; he looked up at the stage and froze. Where there had once been three animatronics – not ten minutes earlier, according to the security feed on that iPad in the office – there were now only two, the demented-looking chicken and the iconic bear. And they were both looking directly at him.

Dean backed up a couple of steps when suddenly, in his pocket, his phone went off. Luckily, he'd thought to put it on vibrate; he answered with a low-pitched, soft "Hello?"

"Dean. Get back to the office, now. The animatronics… they move around at night. And they will kill you." Sam's voice was tense, and Dean figured that he was telling the truth. However, the two on the stage didn't seem like they were about to come for him; they were just staring at him, blankly.

"Yeah. I'm, uh, I'm looking at two of them. Where's the bunny?"

"Bonnie?" Dean heard a couple of clicking noises, presumably Sam checking the cams. "I don't know, I can't find it."

"I'm going to try to come back to the room," Dean said. "Sam –"

"Oh, shit," Sam muttered suddenly.

"What?"

"The blind spots. There are blind spots on the cams – right outside the doors." There were a couple more clicking sounds, but more distant, as if Sam had left the iPad on the table. Suddenly, Sam yelped, and there was a clanking sound.

"It was right there – the bunny – it was right outside the door!"

"Did you close it?"

"Yeah, but get this, Dean: it turns out that leaving the doors closed wastes power. And if we run out of power – I don't even want to know."

"Great. What door is the bunny at?"

"The left, if you're facing the desk," Sam replied. "Get back here."

"Okay. Watch the cams. Talk to me; I need to know where they are." Dean kept walking, into the kids' dining room with the rows of party hats lined on long tables.

Sam flicked through the cameras quickly; Chica and Freddy were both still on the stage, and Dean was in the dining room, making his way towards the kitchen, where the camera wasn't working. "I'm not sure what's in there, Dean," he warned. "That cam's out."

Dean disappeared under the dining room camera, then said over the phone, "Nothing, Sammy; it's just a kitchen." A few seconds later, Sam spotted Dean again in the right-hand hallway.

Nervously, Sam glanced at the door; he couldn't see through the thick steel, but he turned the light on nonetheless, out of habit. Glancing at the little window next to the door, he saw the shadowed outline of Bonnie the bunny. "It's still here," he whispered hoarsely.

"Keep the door closed, then," Dean said bluntly.

Sam flicked through the cameras again, and cursed quietly when he saw that the chicken was no longer on its stage. "Shit. The chicken's out, Dean – hurry up and get back here." Part of him thought how strange that sentence was, but he was too busy panicking to focus on it much.

"I'm almost there, Sammy. Where's the chicken?"

Sam glanced at each camera again, then said, "It's in the dining room." He checked the doorlight again, becoming painfully aware of the heavy toll this was taking on the power; they had sixty percent remaining, and were halfway through the night. If things got worse – if Freddy left the stage….

However, Bonnie's shadow had vanished from within the window frame. _Finally, a stroke of luck. _Cautiously, Sam opened the door, turning the light on again outside just to double check that the creepy bunny was gone.

"Sammy?"

Sam jumped, then turned on the light in the other doorway; Dean had appeared in the hallway, outside the window. He strolled in through the open door, setting his gun down on the desk and turning towards Sam. "This is a shit job, and whatever they're paying us ain't enough."

"Pretty sure it's less than minimum wage," Sam confessed, leaning back in the swivel chair and glancing nervously at the door where Bonnie had appeared. "Here – keep checking these." He handed Dean the tablet, and Dean flicked through all of the frames.

"So, what the hell is this? Some kind of wacked-up _Night at the Museum?_ I don't remember the things in that movie killing the night guards," Dean commented, tipping the screen so that Sam could see where the animatronics were at: Bonnie was in a closet off to the side of the hallway, and Chica was still in the dining room.

"Heh." Sam shrugged. "I guess, something like that." He glanced up at the corner; they had only thirty percent power remaining. He exhaled slowly. "Dean, what time is it?"

Dean glanced at his watch. "It's almost four a.m.," he said. "Why do you ask?"

Sam bit his lip. "Because we have to watch that power," he replied. "If we run out… well, I don't wanna know what happens if we run out. I assume it has something to do with _not being able to close the doors._"

"Gotcha," Dean said, clicking the top button on the iPad and letting the screen go dark. "So… I guess we gotta check these as little as possible."

"Right," Sam murmured. "By the way – " he clicked the right-hand light on and off, just to make sure the hallway was empty – "we have a lot of research to do. I recorded the phone messages for us to listen to again… there was some pretty strange stuff in there."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean hunched over the motel room's small, round table, which was covered in newspaper clippings. He'd been highlighting various lines for ages now after picking them up from the local library. Meanwhile, Sam was on the couch on the other side of the room, reading up on Freddy Fazbear's Pizza on his laptop.

"So get this," Sam said. "The 'Bite of '87' that the phone guy mentioned was in reference to this: 'in November of 1987, an incident took place at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza wherein one of the animatronics reportedly attacked a staff member, causing said employee to lose nearly his entire frontal lobe. The incident was kept largely under wraps by the establishment, and the animatronic in question was decommissioned.'" Sam glanced up at his brother, who frowned thoughtfully.

"Whatever was behind that curtain in the pirate room," Dean theorized. "It must've been an animatronic. _The _animatronic."

"Maybe," Sam mused.

"I got news for you, too," Dean said, shaking a handful of papers. "These were on the wall in the restaurant; I grabbed a bunch of flyers on my way out this morning and forgot to mention them to you. There's some old newspaper articles that talk about this, too. Apparently, shortly before the Bite of '87, a few kids went missing at Freddy's… five of them, to be exact. Police suspect that – let's see – " he shifted some of the papers – "'The kidnapper lured the children to a back room using an abandoned Freddy Fazbear costume, where they were subsequently murdered.'" He looked up to see Sam staring at him intently. "And that ain't the half of it. There were some complaints a while back about blood and mucus being found around the eyes of the animatronics."

"So, what? Are we looking at vengeful spirits here? The kids, maybe?"

"They could be possessing the animatronics' suits," Dean suggested.

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "But how do we get to the actual spirits if the suits are in the way? Did you look up whether the kids were buried or not?"

"Nope. That's the kicker – they never found the bodies."

"Of course not," Sam grumbled, shutting his laptop. "That would be too convenient."

"So we're going back there for our second night," Dean said. "Lovely. Should we reconsider our strategy from last night?"

"Yeah." Sam shoved his laptop into its case with unnecessary force. "We shouldn't split up. Until we know more about what's going on, I don't even know if we should leave the room."

"What?" Dean stared at Sam incredulously; how could his brother suggest something like that? "Sammy, that's not how the job works, and you know it. We go after the SOB's and gank them. We don't sit around behind metal doors and wait for morning." The idea of being idle bothered Dean; it seemed that, with this plan, they had gone from the hunters to the hunted.

Sam sighed, folding his arms. "Look, Dean, as long as we have the night shift, the animatronics aren't attacking anyone except us, right? So it's not like we're not still doing the job. I just have a feeling that we won't be able to take these guys on in the usual way, and I want to make sure we're doing everything right first."

"Well, if one of them shows up at our door, I'm gonna do things my way," Dean said, scooping up a handful of pre-prepared shotgun shells, filled with rock salt. "Fill 'em up with salt, and if that doesn't work, we'll torch the bitches."

"And if that doesn't work?" Sam asked skeptically.

Dean grinned. "Then we go with your plan and close the door and get trapped like rats."

"Fair enough," Sam said. "Let's do it."


	5. Chapter 5

Sam's fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on the arms of the office chair as he spun it in lazy circles, waiting for the phone guy to leave a second recording. He hated everything about this job; he wasn't scared of your typical ghosts, nor was he afraid of demons, monsters, or anything else that went bump in the night. But this was different. It was a little bit like clowns, he surmised: they were things that were supposed to be fun for kids, gone horribly wrong.

Meanwhile, he had to try not to look anxious, because Dean was standing across from him, leaning on the desk, clearly trying not to laugh. Sam scowled at him heavily and was about to snap at him when, suddenly, the phone rang.

Sam picked it up, putting it on speaker resting the phone beside its cradle and hitting the "record" button on his own cell phone.

"Uhh, Hello? Hello? Uh, well, if you're hearing this and you made it to day two, uh, congrats! I-I won't talk quite as long this time since Freddy and his friends tend to become more active as the week progresses. Uhh, it might be a good idea to peek at those cameras while I talk just to make sure everyone's in their proper place. You know..."

Dean tapped on Sam's shoulder and held up the iPad, his eyes wide. On the screen, Bonnie was already missing from the lineup on the stage; flicking to the backstage camera revealed the bunny staring directly at the camera, its head taking up nearly the entire frame. "Jesus," Sam whispered, before focusing his attention back on the phone call.

"Uh... Interestingly enough, Freddy himself doesn't come off stage very often. I heard he becomes a lot more active in the dark though, so, hey, I guess that's one more reason not to run out of power, right? I-I also want to emphasize the importance of using your door lights. There are blind spots in your camera views, and those blind spots happen to be right outside of your doors. So if-if you can't find something, or someone, on your cameras, be sure to check the door lights. Uh, you might only have a few seconds to react... Uh, not that you would be in any danger, of course. I'm not implying that."

"Phone guy doesn't sound awfully sure of himself," Dean quipped, munching fries out of a Freddy Fazbear container; Sam raised an eyebrow at him, and he spread his hands innocently. "What? A guy can't get some fries around here? Sheesh."

"Check the goddamn cams, Dean."

"I'm checking them. I'm checking them. Our favorite rabbit's still got a backstage pass, and nobody else is moving."

"Good," Sam muttered.

"Also, check on the curtain in Pirate Cove from time to time. The character in there seems unique in that he becomes more active if the cameras remain off for long periods of time. I guess he doesn't like being watched. I don't know. Anyway, I'm sure you have everything under control! Uh, talk to you soon." There was a click, and the line went dead.

"Pirate Cove? Dean, check Pirate Cove. That's the 'out-of-order' animatronic." Sam gestured to the iPad, then moved over to each door, flicking the lights on quickly. Nobody in the blind spots, not yet.

Dean prodded the tablet's screen, then looked up at his brother. "Sammy, c'mere. I think you should see this."

Sam leaned over Dean's shoulder and stared at the screen. The purple curtain, monochrome in the low light, was pulled back slightly, and a pointed face with an eye patch and sharp teeth peered through the gap.

"It looks like… a fox?" Sam said.

"Yeah. And get a load of this: Chica's comin' for us, too." He moved to the left hallway's camera, where Sam could just see the bird at the edge of the light.

"Perfect."

"Remember, if she comes to the door…."

"Yeah, you shoot. Well, act fast, because I'll be over here ready to close it if nothing happens, and the phone guy did say that we would only have a couple of seconds to react."

"They don't call me 'quick-draw Dean' for nothing, Sammy," Dean said, smirking.

"Nobody calls you that, Dean."

Some time passed by in silence, with Dean checking the cameras every few seconds and Sam oscillating between the two doors, turning the lights on and off. He wished they could be ordinary fluorescents that might add a degree of normalcy to this strange situation, but no; they had to be flickering, feeble lights whose reach barely extended five feet.

"Sam," Dean said, his voice tense; Sam glanced over at the screen. In Pirate Cove, the curtain was pulled nearly all the way back, and the fox-like character's head was snaking around the corner in a creepy way.

"Oh no, you don't," Sam muttered; not knowing which door he would come to if he did start coming for them, Sam merely went for the light on the right hand side and almost jumped ten feet at the sight of Chica's "Let's Eat" bib glowing in the window. "Shit!" He slammed his hand on the door button before Dean, who had leapt to his feet with the shotgun in hand, could get a single round off.

"Dammit, Sammy! Let me do my job!"

"Sorry, Dean, but the window was in the way and you would've had to go outside to fire," Sam protested. "Bad idea."

"I guess you're right," Dean mumbled. "Fine. Check the other – " He glanced down at the cameras again. "Aw, crap. That fox dude is out of his hiding place."

"Dean, what do we do?"

"I don't know, hold on – " Suddenly, Dean yelled, "SHIT!" Sam glanced at the camera long enough to see the fox animatronic sprinting down the left-hand corridor.

With reflexes honed by years of hunting, Sam leaped for the other door, slamming his hand down on the button just as the fox became visible by the window. Sam stepped back; now they were truly confined in the room, with both doors closed. There was a hollow pounding at the door; the fox was trying to get into the office.

"He can't get through that," Dean said doubtfully. "It's reinforced steel."

After a few minutes, the pounding died away, and Sam clicked the light on again, peering through the window; no fox. "He's gone," Sam sighed, opening the door again. Checking the other light, he found that Chica, too, had vanished, so he opened the second door.

"I probably could've tried firing at Foxy Grandpa over there," Dean griped, brandishing the shotgun. "What's the point in bringing a weapon if we can't use it?"

"Next time, I'll let you fire," Sam breathed; he clicked on the left side's light and was confronted by Bonnie the Bunny, standing in the doorway, looming over them. "WHICH IS RIGHT NOW! DEAN!"

Dean lifted the shotgun and fired two shots straight into the bunny's purple chest; the animatronic didn't even flinch, and the bullets fell to the floor, useless. Sam instantly shut the door, panting, and turned to his brother. "What the hell kind of material are those things made of?!"

"Son of a bitch," Dean said in awe. "The salt didn't work – hell, the thing wasn't even scratched."

"Something tells me lighting them up won't work either," Sam guessed, "but we can give it I try, I s'pose."

However, it was another hour before anything happened; Dean flipped through all of the cameras every ten seconds or so, and Sam checked the lights at least twice a minute, or whenever he was feeling particularly apprehensive about them. Dean kept going back to Pirate Cove; Foxy, as Dean insisted on calling him, remained behind his purple curtains. "If he's there at all," Dean added, not very reassuringly. "I mean, we don't know. He might just be wandering around the place." Sam gave him a look, and he desisted.

After a while – and one more encounter with Bonnie, in which the brothers had found the animatronic suit immune to flames – Sam glanced at the power readout on the tablet's screen. "Uh oh," he muttered, glancing at his watch. "We should've checked this sooner – we're down to two percent. And there's still ten minutes to six."

"What do we do? The phone guy said Freddy becomes active when it goes dark." Dean opened the tablet – hesitantly – and flicked to the stage. Freddy was the only one left on it, and he was staring directly at the camera with dark, glittering eyes. "Look at him, eyeballing us."

Sam checked the lights again, then stood in the middle of the room; Dean clicked the tablet off again. It was too late, however; after a couple of minutes, with a horrible whining sound, the lights went off all around them, and the boys were left in pitch darkness.

"Don't move," Sam hissed to Dean; his brother didn't respond. For a little while, everything was perfectly silent; then there were the sounds of faint, musical notes on the air, drifting eerily through the office, permeating into the stillness of the darkened restaurant. Uneasily, Sam wondered what would happen if Bonnie, Chica, or Foxy were to come for them while they couldn't close the doors or check the cameras. However, there were no other sounds in the place other than the unearthly music, no shuffling footsteps or shifting floorboards.

Then a face lit up in Sam's peripheral vision; he didn't turn his head to look at it, instinctively keeping still and moving only his eyes. The round eyes, the creepy grin – it was Freddy Fazbear, and his face blinked on and off like someone was lighting a flashlight repeatedly under it. And it was right outside the door.

_I recognize this song, _Sam thought, somewhere in the back of his frenzied, panicked mind. _It's the Toreador March. It's a really disturbing, music-box version of it – but it's definitely that song._ The jingling notes stopped suddenly, the glowing face vanished, and everything was pitch black. Sam closed his eyes when suddenly, his phone vibrated in his hand.

Sam glanced at the screen; an alarm he'd set was going off, for six AM. The lights suddenly flicked back on; quickly, Sam and Dean both leaped to their feet, looking around for Freddy, but the animatronic bear was nowhere to be found. "We made it through the night," Dean said, glancing at Sam, sounding like he was half-joking but also very shaken.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I think tomorrow, we need to conserve a little power."


	6. Chapter 6

The sleek, black Impala glided down the road, its engine roaring furiously as Dean revved it, accelerating. Sam gave him a sideways glance, but said nothing about his "aggressive" driving as he sometimes did. It comforted Dean to be behind the wheel of his baby; he turned another corner, heading back towards Freddy's. It was already dark, and he and Sam still had no idea what they were going to do.

"It's the third night of this case," Dean muttered, "and we have no idea how to kill the sons of bitches."

"Look, be patient," Sam insisted. "Obviously there's a case here, and we can't leave until we get the job done."

Dean scowled. "I know." He pounded his hand on the steering wheel, suddenly frustrated. "Dammit, Sammy, I like it when I shoot them with salt and they disappear. That's really comforting, y'know?"

Dean wasn't looking at Sam, but he could imagine his brother rolling his eyes. "Sure, Dean. Whatever you say."

"So what did you find out about the creepy song?"

"Yeah, so, apparently the Toreador March was originally from the French opera _Carmen._ The character who sung it was a bullfighter who talked about enjoying the thrill of bullfighting, which kept him coming back for more." Dean glanced at Sam to see his brother staring at him skeptically. "Kind of like we keep coming back to this restaurant even though there are killer ghost robots."

"So the little shit is basically making fun of us," Dean summed up. "Great."

"That's not important, though," Sam said. "How are we going to kill them?"

Dean shrugged, turning the Impala quickly into Freddy Fazbear's parking lot, taking one of the spots right near the front entrance. "I dunno."

"I still think it's a bad idea for us to leave the room."

Dean frowned; he hated the idea of being cooped up in that tiny office with the whirring fan, steadily decreasing power, and doors as their final defense. Actually, it was really the idea of being on defense while hunting that rankled; they were supposed to track down the ghosts and gank them, not sit around and wait for them. "How are we gonna kill them if we stay in the room?"

"How are we gonna kill them if we leave the room?" Sam countered. "I can't think of anything, so in the meantime, we do our fake job and keep an eye on them."

"Fine." Dean stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him; it squealed in protest, and he stalked towards the front door, his hands jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket.


	7. Chapter 7

**** Hi, all! Thank you so much for your continued readership, if that's a word. I realize I haven't updated this in a while, but now that school's out I'll be doing my best to keep writing and finish this! ****

Dean spun around in the swivel chair, which he'd commandeered from his brother; it made staying in the office a bit more bearable as he and Sam waited for the third phone message from the phone guy; he wasn't sure what else there was to tell. Creepy animatronics, keep them out of the room. Of course, he was wrong.

The phone rang, and the now-familiar voice filled the tiny room. "Hello, hello? Hey, you're doing great. Most people don't last this long. I mean, you know, they usually move on to other things by now. I'm not implying that they died. Th-that's not what I meant." Dean rolled his eyes, but he nervously fiddled with his pistol anyway – he'd faced many things over the years, but this particular case was creepier than most. He was surprised Sam was faring so well, since animatronics were basically only a few steps above clowns.

"Uh, anyway, I better not take up too much of your time. Things start getting real tonight." Sam leaned towards the phone, and, as he did so, Dean grabbed the tablet from off the desk. Suddenly, it seemed like a good idea to check the cameras. As he flicked through them, the phone guy's voice continued, "Uh… hey, listen, I had an idea: if you happen to get caught and want to avoid getting stuffed into a Freddy suit, uhh, try playing dead! You know, go limp. There's a chance that, uh, maybe they'll think you're an empty costume instead."

"There's only five hundred things wrong with that plan," Dean grumbled, closing the tablet; there was no activity yet.

"Then again, if they think you're an empty costume, they might try to… stuff a metal skeleton into you." Sam and Dean winced simultaneously. "I wonder how that would work. Yeah, never mind, scratch that. It's best just not to get caught."

"This guy's insane," Sam commented.

"Yeah," Dean replied darkly. "Working here must do that to a person."

"Um… okay, I'll leave you to it," the phone guy finished. "See you on the flip side."

"Later, dude," Sam muttered as the phone clicked and the recording stopped. Silence settled on the little room for a few seconds before Dean swiveled the chair around to face his brother.

"What's the plan?"

Sam scowled. "We don't have a plan, remember? Use less power, don't get killed. Whatever that helps us accomplish."

"We need to figure out a way to gank the sons of bitches," Dean said, clicking the tablet back on and flicking to the stage's camera. "The stupid rabbit is already moving, by the way." He flipped to Pirate Cove, only to see Foxy's long snout poking out from behind the purple curtain; when he returned to the stage camera, he swore under his breath. "And so is the creepy chicken."

"Can you find them?" Sam replied, his voice tense.

"Best not to, I think," Dean told him, closing the tablet again. "If we don't look at the cams as much, we don't use as much power, right?"

"Sure," Sam said doubtfully. "Just… make sure you keep checking the lights, then." As if he'd reminded himself to do this, he pressed the button for the left hallway's light. When the bulbs winked on, they illuminated the looming form of the purple rabbit animatronic. Sam yelped and quickly hit the door button, staring frantically at Dean, who had leaped to his feet, no longer feeling so casual about the whole thing. "How did it do that?" Sam panted.

"It disappeared a few minutes ago," Dean replied, glancing at the other door, behind which was a dark, empty hallway. On a hunch, he checked the light outside that door, as well – and sure enough, Chica was peering in through the window, her eyes staring at them menacingly. Swearing, Dean slammed the second door shut and glanced at Sam. "So much for not using power."

"Great. Just… great."

The Winchesters checked each light again several times before Bonnie, and then Chica, finally disappeared from the doors. Sam grabbed the tablet from Dean's hands and quickly flicked through all of the cameras, allowing himself only a second's glance at each one. "Looks like Foxy is almost out of his hidey hole, too," Sam whispered. "Chica's back in the dining room – Bonnie's backstage – and – "

Suddenly, an eerie noise penetrated the gloom of the empty restaurant, a chilling, booming laugh that sent shivers down Dean's spine. He locked eyes with Sam, who glanced back down at the cams. "Freddy's moving," he murmured.

"Jesus. Okay, try and find the overgrown teddy bear, and I'll…." Dean trailed off, realizing what was so frustrating about this case: there wasn't much he could do.

"You'll check the lights," Sam reminded him.

"Yeah," Dean said. "I'll check the freaking lights."

He did so; there was nothing outside either door, except – a flurry of motion at one end of the left hallway. Dean blinked as a large shape whizzed towards them, racing on two legs. "It's the fox!" he exclaimed, jumping backwards; the animatronic stopped just outside the door just as Dean reached for the button to close it. Instinctively, Dean grabbed the demon knife from inside his jacket and lashed out with it as Foxy reached inside the office; he slashed the front of the animatronic, leaving a long gash in its fur that did nothing to curb its attack. Realizing that this would do nothing, he shoved the robotic fox roughly, and it staggered back into the hallway briefly. Before it could run at the door again, Dean slammed it shut with the button, panting and listening to Foxy's repeated assaults at the metal.

"Dean, check this out," Sam said, as if nothing had happened; Dean turned towards his brother. "Look there." He pointed at the tablet's screen; there were two glowing eyes in the background of the dining room, which Chica the chicken had vacated. The little pinpricks of light burned with an enthusiastic gleam, and Dean thought that their owner could only be highly intelligent.

"It's Freddy," Dean realized. "He's keeping out of the camera. Hiding in the shadows." Sam turned the tablet off and wandered over to check the lights; neither of the doors hid an animatronic.

Another hour or so passed before Dean heard the same chilling laughter again, booming throughout the lifeless halls. This time, Sam had his phone in his hand and had hit the record button; Dean glanced at him confused, and Sam shrugged. "Could be useful," he whispered.

"Find the bear," Dean responded, checking the door lights again as Sam flipped through the cameras.

"I can't find him, but Chica is in the hallway and there are pots and pans being moved in the kitchen," Sam told his brother. He turned up the volume on the side of the tablet, and Dean heard clangs and crashes. "That must be Freddy."

"You know what?" Dean growled. "Screw this. I'm not just sitting around in this stupid office waiting to be killed. I'm going out there."


	8. Chapter 8

"Dean, that's a terrible idea," Sam warned, looking up from the screen of the tablet, where he'd just located Freddy Fazbear – the bear animatronic's gleaming eyes were visible at the edge of the frame in the right-side corridor. "These monsters have home court, and we've seen how fast they can move when they want to." He thought of how Foxy sprinted down the corridor, and how the others managed to move so quickly, with only a rustling of feet echoing throughout the restaurant as a warning.

Dean ignored Sam, predictably, leaning against the light button for the right side hallway; Sam was about to tell him to go the other way when he looked up and saw Chica's outline in the window. He shuddered as Dean quickly shut the door, then turned to the other hallway.

"_Dean_," Sam said, trying to persuade his brother; he could already tell that this was a losing battle. Dean's fingers were tapping restlessly on the side of his pistol, and, when he clicked the lights on in the other hallway, it was perfectly empty. "Come on, this is a bad idea."

"I don't hear you offering anything better, little brother," Dean said with a cocky grin. He stepped out of the doorway, the light from the office spilling out and just illuminating his features; clicking on a flashlight, Dean shone the beam down the hallway. "Coast is clear. Keep watching those cams, Sammy, and stay on the phone with me to tell me where the sons of bitches are." Sam's phone buzzed on the desk as Dean dialed his number; he picked up, then scrolled through the cameras again; clearly there was no point in trying to convince Dean to stay.

"Bonnie is in the dining hall, and Foxy is totally behind the curtain again," he told Dean, who nodded.

"Gotcha. Let's go see what we can see." With that, he stepped out into the darkness of the hallway; Sam watched him on the camera as he swung the flashlight's beam around, making his way past the supply closet and into Pirate Cove.

"What are you seeing?" Sam whispered; he checked the lights again where Chica had been, and the chicken animatronic was no longer there. When he flipped through the cameras, he found Chica had relocated to the dining hall, and Bonnie had retreated to backstage. "Bonnie and Chica have moved. Avoid the dining hall and the stage."

"There's nothing," Dean replied; Sam watched as he wandered into view in the camera that was focused on Foxy's lair. "All quiet on the western front."

"Okay. Good. Don't push it, though, Dean – "

"I'm going to the other hallway," Dean said.

"Dean. You'd have to go through the dining hall, and Chica is there. That's a _terrible _idea." He checked the camera again and saw that the chicken was indeed still in the dining hall, between two of the tables, staring lopsidedly at the camera.

"I'm in stealth mode. We're good."

Sam focused intently on the dining hall's camera; Dean came into view in the edge of the frame, appearing to be out of the animatronic's line of vision. Sam realized that he had no idea how the animatronics sensed where they were, and he hoped that their senses were similar to humans'. He supposed that they were probably vengeful spirits, which didn't narrow it down very much; they'd come across some spirits that were practically blind and deaf, and others that could see them through closed doors and walls.

Chica didn't turn towards Dean, though, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Dean, in the back of the frame, slip into the kitchen.

"I've lost visual on you," Sam reported. "The cameras are down in the kitchen." There was still audio, however; Sam could hear Dean muttering both on the camera and the phone.

"There's nothing here, either, but those guys have made quite the mess. Pots and pans all over the place. Jesus, Sammy, it's possible that we'll get fired for this," Dean said jokingly, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, right. You wish. Keep looking." While Dean made his way through the kitchen, Sam flicked the cams back to Pirate Cove, where Foxy had begun to inch his snout back out of the curtain, and then the supply closet, which was empty, and finally the corner on the left side of the hallway. Bonnie was standing there, and the purple animatronic's head was twitching slightly, as if it were possessed. "Bonnie's behind the door," he murmured into the phone, "and it's _moving_ – it's shaking all creepily."

"Well, I knew these guys were movers and shakers," Dean said, but there was no levity in the remark as it was undercut with tension. "I'm in the hallway now."

Sam flicked the cameras to where Dean was, and saw his brother moving out of the shadows at the edge of the hall. "Wait a sec. Where's Freddy?"

"Sam! The end of the hall!"

Sam swore quietly and switched cameras again, this time focusing on the right hand corner behind the office's door. He could hardly see anything, because most of the lens was obscured by Freddy's head, staring directly into the camera with his two large, glittering eyes. "He's not outside the door yet," Sam said uncertainly, switching cameras again to where Dean was.

His brother had the beam of the flashlight focused down the hallway, pointing at where Freddy was. "Sam… he's sneaking into the room! Shut the door, shut it now!"

Sam looked up and sprinted over to the buttons, slamming the door shut. He then checked the other light and found that Bonnie was standing in the doorframe; panicking, Sam shut the second door, too. He checked the cameras frantically; he could hear Chica in the kitchen, and could still see Freddy in the corner of the hallway.

"Do not open that door!" Dean warned. "He's too smart. If he's in the corner, you slam that thing shut so fast, do you hear me?"

"Dean," Sam whispered, suddenly realizing what he'd done. "The other door is closed too… Bonnie was there. And Chica is in the kitchen. And Freddy's down the hallway from you."

Sam flicked back to the camera that he could see Dean in; his brother looked up at the lens. "So I'm trapped," Dean said.

"Yeah. Uh, you sort of are."

"How much power do you got left?" Dean asked.

Sam glanced at the corner of the tablet and let out a long breath. "Not good. Only five percent left."

"Turn off the tablet!"

Sam complied, tapping the button at the top of the device. "It's off," he breathed. "Dean, you have to find a way to get out of there."

"I have an idea," Dean said hurriedly. There were a few scufflings on the line, but no sounds, and Sam waited for an agonizing several seconds before Dean's voice sounded again. "Salt circle," he explained. "I had a container in my pocket. We, uh, we thought they might be vengeful spirits. If this works, we'll know they are."

"This has to work," Sam replied, switching the tablet back on again; he couldn't just wait idly as Dean was in danger. He didn't care if it drained the power.

In the camera, Dean was standing inside a thin circle of white powder; Sam was worried for an instant that there wasn't enough salt, but there was very little they could do about that now. Suddenly, a dark shadow moved into the side of the frame, and Sam swore under his breath; it was clearly Freddy. Simultaneously, Dean swore into the phone, much louder. "Sam, it's Freddy."

The bear animatronic moved faster than Sam could've imagined possible; one moment, he was at the edge of the frame – the next, he was at the edge of Dean's improvised salt circle. Dean looked up at the animatronic, staring at it, holding up his pistol uselessly as if it would help. Freddy loomed over him for several minutes; neither Winchester said a word, but Sam felt a small drop of relief. It appeared that the salt circle was working, because Freddy hadn't moved into the circle. If he could have, he would have already killed Dean.

"I think it works," Dean said into the phone, not taking his eyes off Freddy.

"Yeah. Looks like it does."

"That's a game changer."

Sam sighed, leaning back in the chair, then jumped as several loud thumps hit the door on the other side of the hallway; a glance through the window told him that it was Foxy, pounding on the door again. In all of the excitement, Sam had forgotten to check the other animatronics. Realizing that both doors were still closed, and the power was still decreasing rapidly, Sam checked the corner of the tablet again – two percent. As soon as Foxy's pounding ceased, Sam lifted the door and clicked the tablet off, taking a shaky breath. After a few moments, with a slight whining noise, the lightbulbs flickered off and the fan stopped whirring – they'd gone dark.

"Power's gone again," Sam whispered to Dean in the darkness. "You still got your flashlight? Stay in the circle."

"Sam," Dean hissed. "Freddy's gone."

"What?"

"Remember last night? Freddy's coming for you!"

Sam held his breath as he stared at the left side door for what seemed like ages; Freddy's face didn't appear. He was probably moving through the restaurant at this moment, making his way over.

Then the lights came on overhead, and Sam slumped backward in the swivel chair, silently thanking his lucky stars.


	9. Chapter 9

"What if we were to skip tonight?" Sam was lying back on the motel room's lumpy mattress, staring at the ceiling; for some reason, when they'd returned to their room at seven in the morning, Dean had managed to instantly fall asleep. As if Sam could possibly get any sleep after the events of last night.

"Hmm?" Dean mumbled. "We can't skip, Sammy. We'll get fired."

"So what?" Sam sighed. "We don't need this job in order to solve the case, Dean."

Dean sat up, grinning. "No, but I need a summer job to pay for my wheels."

"Dean, be serious. This is a waste of time. And it's dangerous."

"Oh, no, it's dangerous? Well, golly gee, I suppose we should just go back to the safety zone and hunt werewolves and ghouls some more. Come on, Sam!"

"_Dean._" Sam scowled at his brother; couldn't Dean take things seriously, just this once? "Really."

"Yeah, well, every night we've been there, we've been learning new stuff. Last night, we learned that salt circles work. You know what that tells me?"

"That they're vengeful spirits," Sam muttered dully.

"That they're vengeful spirits!" Dean smacked his hand against his mattress. "Exactly. And we know how to deal with vengeful spirits."

"Not when they're possessing creepy animatronic animals," Sam retorted. He swung out of the bed and wandered over to the desk, where Dean had been preparing rounds of shotgun shells filled with rock salt; he lifted one of them up and waved it like a piece of evidence in a trial. "We tried these, Dean, and they didn't work. There are no remains to be found. Unless you want to torch the entire restaurant -"

"Wouldn't exactly be a huge loss, would it?" Dean griped.

"- then we're out of ideas. Maybe it's time to call it quits on this one."

"Yeah, and let the freaky sons of bitches murder the next sucker stupid enough to take that night shift job? Not likely." Dean stood up, looking frustrated. "Come on, Sammy, we're so close! I can feel it. We'll have 'em."

Sam regarded his brother dubiously; considering their experience last night, Dean was altogether too energetic about solving this case. "Fine," Sam relented. "But we gotta be more careful this time. I say no leaving the office."

"Right," Dean snorted. "Sure. I'll stay in the office. Because we all know that it's easy to hunt things from inside a tiny room, armed with an electric fan and some hamburger wrappers."

"I mean it, Dean!"

"Here's the plan," Dean went on, ignoring his brother. "We salt the doorways of the office. Should be pretty easy; it'll let us conserve power. We won't have to shut the doors as much, only to get the stupid freaks to leave."

Sam nodded grudgingly. "Yeah, okay, but -"

"And we should poke around the place a little more. Personally, I want to take a look backstage, see if there's anything we can use -"

"Dean," Sam interrupted. "Don't you think leaving is a bad idea? I mean, come on - we got lucky last time."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Sam." He picked up his car keys and his pistol from the desk and gestured towards the door. "I believe a gourmet pizza lunch awaits us somewhere. Let's go."

*** Sorry this chapter's so short. I haven't updated in a while and had to kind of get back into the swing of things, but I fully intend to finish this story! ***


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